


The Way You Move

by the_cheshire_cat_grin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, Dancer AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, homoerotic stretching, it's pretty gay my dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cheshire_cat_grin/pseuds/the_cheshire_cat_grin
Summary: In which Enjolras is low on credits, so he is forced to enroll in an elective- Dance 101. Enjolras knows next to nothing about dancing, but, luckily, a certain cynic he knows is the T.A. With his midterm performance coming up, he enlists Grantaire's help to turn him into a proper dancer and nail his routine. However, the close quarters, one-on-one time forces Enjolras to face some long suppressed feelings...





	1. Chapter 1

“Your form is off,” Grantaire noted, a sardonic grin on his face.

  
Enjolras scowled and repositioned his leg, his calves straining with the effort.

  
“You’re not pointing your toes, E,” Grantaire chided. “Point your toes, and bring your leg up higher.”

  
Enjolras tried to raise his leg higher, but just then, his leg began to cramp. Instead, he tried to point his toes, but a shot of pain ripped through his foot. His leg began to lower.

  
“Keep your leg at waist level,” Grantaire said.

  
“It hurts,” Enjolras snapped, blowing a stray curl out of his face only to have it fall back over his eye. Damn this class. He had never wanted to sign up for dance, but his advisor had warned him that he was low on credits, and every other class he had been interested had filled up quickly. He had thought a class like dance would be graded solely on participation, but the professor seemed determined to turn every student into professional dancers by the end of the semester, which would be understandable, except over half the class was only enrolled for the credits and had no prior experience with dance, Enjolras included.

  
Although the class itself was a nightmare, Enjolras had considered himself lucky that Grantaire was his T.A. As apathetic as he appeared at their weekly meetings, he actually seemed to take the dance class seriously, so Enjolras had approached him for some tips. What he had not expected was for Grantaire’s training to be as rigorous as the professor’s. It was almost as if he was trying to make Enjolras suffer.

  
As if to prove his point, Grantaire approached and snapped Enjolras’ leg and foot into position, prompting Enjolras to yelp in pain. “Dancing is supposed to hurt,” he murmured, his hand holding Enjolras’ knee so his leg would not sink again. “You’re supposed to feel that pain and let it consume you. That’s how art is born.”

  
Enjolras tightened his grip on the bar and glanced at Grantaire, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Why aren’t you this intense at our meetings?” he wondered, genuinely curious despite his irritation.

  
Grantaire gave a wry grin. “My intensity is a reflection of my enthusiasm,” he said simply. “I don’t see the point in wasting enthusiasm on lost causes.”

  
Enjolras frowned. It was an old argument of theirs, but one that never failed to make his blood boil. “So, why are you even helping me?” he snapped. “Surely you have something else to do that’s more worthy of your enthusiasm.”

  
Grantaire studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a lost cause,” he said, dropping his hand.

  
Enjolras groaned and let his leg drop, pain shooting up his calves. He knew he would be spending the rest of the day with a limp.

  
“You’re in so much pain because you’re not stretching properly,” Grantaire explained. “You need to give your muscles a chance to loosen up before you start diving into your routine.”

  
Enjolras sighed. “I’ve got to memorize this routine, Grantaire,” he said. “I only have a few weeks left until I have to perform it.”

  
“You’ve got plenty of time to memorize it, E,” he said, a reassuring smile on his face. “Just focus on your warm ups for now. We can work on everything else later on.”

  
Enjolras bit his lower lip, worry plainly written on his face. “I’m trusting you, Grantaire,” he finally said. “I can’t afford to fail this class.”

Grantaire’s face lit up like a sunrise. “Baby,” he said, “you couldn’t fail this class if you tried.”

  
Enjolras scowled and turned away to reach for his bag as his stomach fluttered with…something. He hated it when Grantaire called him that. It made him feel…well, he wasn’t sure what it made him feel, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. To be fair, Grantaire called all of his friends “baby”, and everyone knew he meant it in a completely joking, platonic manner. Still, there was something about the way Grantaire said it to Enjolras that made his heart flutter and his face redden. It was infuriating.

  
Grantaire smirked and reached for his own bag. “Anyway, you’re already better than you were on the first day,” he said as the two headed out of the studio and into hallway.” At least you can lift your leg more than four inches off the ground.”

  
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Very funny,” he grumbled, not really in the mood for his teasing.

  
“Just meet me at the same time tomorrow,” Grantaire said, pushing open the doors into the chilly, mid-October sunshine. The leaves were beginning to fall, and they swirled through the air like dancers performing their own routine. “I’ll show you how to warm up properly, and we can run through your routine.”

  
“Sure thing,” Enjolras said, turning down the sidewalk toward his dorm. “I’ll bring some Ibuprofen.”

  
Grantaire laughed as he walked away. “You do that, E,” he called out. “You’re gonna need it.”

  
Enjolras groaned as he made his way up the steps to his dorm. Every part of his body hurt. Why couldn’t he have taken painting with Jehan instead? Enjolras was a shitty painter, but at least they wouldn’t have tortured him like Grantaire was.

  
Pressing the button for the eighth floor, Enjolras bit his lip as he waited for the elevator. Maybe he was being too hard on Grantaire. After all, he was giving up his own valuable time to help him, even if he did tease him the entire time. He would try to be more patient in the future.

  
The elevator doors finally opened, and Enjolras stepped inside. He spent the entire ride lost in thought, remembering the intensity in Grantaire’s eyes when he spoke of suffering. Where had that come from?

  
Finally, the elevator doors opened, and Enjolras made his way down the hall to his room. The door was open a crack and music filled the air. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, thankful he didn’t have to dig through his bag for his keys, and immediately threw himself onto his bed, shoes and all.

  
“How was practice?” Combeferre asked, his eyes glued to his laptop as he typed what Enjolras assumed was his midterm essay.

  
Enjolras responded by groaning deeply. He reached blindly for his bedside table, hoping his bottle of ibuprofen was sitting somewhere nearby.

  
“So practice was good?” Courfeyrac called from the bunk above him. Enjolras felt the bed jostle, and heard a loud thump as Courf jumped down. “Yikes, you look like shit,” he informed him, handing him the bottle of ibuprofen.

  
“Thank you,” Enjolras said gratefully as he gulped down the medicine. “For the medicine,” he clarified. “Not for the ‘you look like shit’ thing.”

  
“Taire’s really putting you through the ringer, huh?” Courf asked as he strode across the room and dug around the mini fridge a bit.

  
“I sincerely believe he’s trying to kill me,” Enjolras said, finally sitting up. He winced at his sore muscles and began to untie his shoes. “It’s a dance class, not the marines. I don’t guy why he’s being so intense.”

  
“You know Grantaire,” Combeferre chimed in from his desk. “He takes his art seriously. They’re one of the few things he actually puts any effort into.”

  
“That and pranks,” Courf agreed, grabbing a handful of bottled water and handed one to Combeferre, who smiled gratefully. “Although, I suppose one could argue that pranking is a form of art.”

  
“I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” Combeferre disagreed, taking a big gulp of water.

  
“Of course it’s true,” Courf said. “It’s about the expression, about using something to make a statement.”

  
Enjolras let them argue while he ripped off his dance clothes. He slipped on his sweats and sighed in relief. Grantaire and Jehan had both assured him that leggings would be the most comfortable thing to wear for practice, but he couldn’t stand how tight they were. He felt like his legs, among other things, were being suffocated. He fell back against the bed, not even having the energy to begin the mountain of homework that was due within the next few days. This class was going to be the death of him.


	2. Chapter 2

            The next day, Enjolras headed toward the dance studio in trepidation. He couldn’t fathom what new form of torture Grantaire had concocted overnight. His body still ached from yesterday, and he gnawed at his lip in worry.

            When he entered the studio, Grantaire was already there, stretching in the corner. When he noticed Enjolras, he smiled and stood up. “Hey, buddy,” he said cheerfully. “Ready for another day of fun?”

            “Oh, goody,” Enjolras grumbled as he set his bag by Grantaire’s against the wall. “What kind of torture can I expect today?”

            “The worst kind you can imagine,” he answered, frowning. “Especially if you keep up an attitude like that.”

            Enjolras’ eyes widened, surprised at his tone. “I-excuse me?”

            “You heard me, sunshine,” he answered, pointing to the middle of the studio. “Now have a seat.”

            Enjolras huffed in annoyance, but did what he was told. He didn’t particularly care for Grantaire’s bossy tone, but he wasn’t about to give up on the best tutor in class. Maybe Grantaire was being a smartass, but he was a smartass who knew what he was talking about.

            After a moment, Grantaire sat beside him. “Do what I do,” he ordered as he began to stretch out his legs. Enjolras obliged, and the two sat in silence for several moments as they warmed up. Finally, Grantaire said, “If you think every practice is going to be hell, it will be. There’s no room for improvement with a negative mindset.”

            Enjolras nodded. He supposed this made sense, but this didn’t remove his apprehension.

            “Now,” he said, standing up. “You hang here. I’ll run through your routine, and when I’m done, we do it together.”

            Enjolras nodded and waited while Grantaire started the music. He padded back over to the middle of the studio and stood in the first position, his feet planted firmly on the floor, spine straight, and his head bowed. Finally, the music began, and Grantaire slowly lifted his arms. Then, he leapt into motion.

            Enjolras stared, captivated as Grantaire danced. He moved like water, graceful and fluid as he leapt and twirled around the room. He moved with more passion than Enjolras had ever seen.

            When the song reached its crescendo, Enjolras’ breath hitched. Grantaire performed a grand jete, his face a mask of ecstasy as he landed, and he twirled some more. As the song began to slow, so did he, and as the final notes rang out, he bowed his head once more and kneeled.

            Enjolras’ heart pounded. Even though the song had ended, he couldn’t look away. It was several moments before Grantaire finally looked up, and when he did, Enjolras saw he was panting. He was surprised something that appeared so graceful had taken so much energy.

            The two stared at each other in silence until finally, Enjolras croaked out, “I don’t think I can do that.”

            Grantaire smiled so warmly Enjolras’ breath caught again. “Baby, you can do anything,” he assured him.

            Enjolras gulped and glanced away, his gaze falling on his reflection in the mirror, and noticed in horror how red his face was. _Get a grip_ , he growled silently to himself. Finally, he let out a breath and stood, carefully not to meet Grantaire’s gaze lest he notice how flustered he had become. “How about we start with the easy bits?”

            Grantaire chuckled and stood, stretching his arms up as he said, “No such thing as ‘easy bits’, E. Only ‘less difficult bits’.”

            Enjolras bit his lip, his gaze falling to Grantaire’s exposed naval before quickly flitting away. “Yeah,” Enjolras muttered. “Let’s start with those.”

            Enjolras spent the rest of practice in a daze. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, his thoughts kept returning to Grantaire’s passionate dance, and the way he had moved with an almost ferocious grace, like a panther leaping through the forest. Just the memory of Grantaire’s intense gaze made his flush. Enjolras had never seen him look so beautiful.

            “You’re off the beat, E,” Grantaire chided him, keeping time by snapping his fingers.

            Enjolras cleared his throat and apologized. Lifting his head, he leapt the way Grantaire had earlier, but he landed on the wrong foot. “Fuck!” he cried out as he fell to the ground, his ankle throbbing.

            Grantaire was there immediately, his face filled with worry. “Stay still,” he ordered, and Enjolras was glad to do so. His whole body ached, but his ankle was currently screaming in agony. Slowly, tenderly, Grantaire ran his fingers over his ankle, and Enjolras hissed in pain. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, his fingers gently prodding at his ankle. “I’m not trying to hurt you. Think you can wiggle your toes for me?”

            Enjolras did as he was asked, albeit slowly and painfully. Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. “Well,” he began, “the good news is it’s just a sprain.”

            Enjolras furrowed his brow. “That’s good news?” he asked, wincing at the pain screaming in his foot.

            “Well, the alternative was a broken ankle, six weeks in a cast, and no way for you to make up your midterm performance,” Grantaire informed him. He reached out a hand to help Enjolras stand, which he gratefully accepted. He stumbled forward a bit, and Grantaire wrapped an arm around him waist to keep him steady. “We’ll just go ahead and call it a day,” he suggested.

            Enjolras snorted. “Why stop now?” he wondered sarcastically as they made their way toward their bags. “I’ve only destroyed every muscle in my ankle.”

            “Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but sometimes you have to take care of your body,” Grantaire said reaching for their bags. Enjolras held his by his leg, while Grantaire threw his over his shoulder.

            Enjolras barked out a laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.” He froze, his gaze falling on Grantaire’s. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I-that was a douche bag thing to say.”

            Grantaire smiled and shrugged. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” Together, they slowly made their way out of the studio and down the hallway. “That’s the difference between you and me though,” he continued. “I destroy my body slowly with alcohol. You destroy yours almost instantaneously with a goddamn grand jete.”

            At that, Enjolras laughed. His foot was throbbing, but Grantaire’s joking had made the pain almost bearable. “I guess I still have a lot to learn,” he admitted meekly.

            Grantaire smiled as he pushed the door open with his shoulder out into the brisk afternoon air. “Good thing you got me around, huh,” he said playfully.

            Enjolras met his gaze and smiled, the strange fluttering feeling returning in his stomach. “Yeah,” he said. “Good thing.”

            Grantaire ordered a full 24 hours of rest, plenty of ice, a handful of ibuprofen, and absolutely no practice tomorrow. When he delivered Enjolras to his room, Courfeyrac and Combeferre instantly entered their respective “worried parent” modes.

            “Jesus, Taire,” Courf exclaimed as Combeferre helped Enjolras to his bed. “We knew you were torturing the guy, but we didn’t know you were actually trying to kill him.”

            Grantaire scowled as he leaned against the doorway. “It’s not my fault E doesn’t know how to do a damn grand jete.”

            “Hey!” Enjolras protested as Ferre gently lowered him to the bed. “I just forgot which foot to land on. It could have happened to anyone.”

            “Sure it can,” Grantaire agreed, a wry grin on his face. “Doesn’t mean it does, though.”

            Enjolras rolled his eyes, annoyed. Of course, Grantaire just had to act all high and mighty just because he happened to be better than Enjolras at something. Scowling, Enjolras adjusted his position in bed, and winced at the pain that shot up his calf. Why did he have to be so incompetent at dancing?

            “Thanks for getting E home safe,” Combeferre told Grataire. “I’ll make sure he gets plenty of rest.”

            “I knew I could count on you, Ferre,” Grantaire said. He winked at Enjolras and continued, “You’re lucky your roommate’s a doctor.”

            “Pre-med,” Combeferre reminded him, just as Courf chimed in, “Trust me, he’s not the only one thankful his roommate’s a doctor.”

            Enjolras groaned, and Grantaire raised a brow. “Hmm,” he mused. “Your words sound innocent, but I detect some strange, sexual undertones, so I’m just gonna go ahead and head out.”

            “This is why we can’t go places,” Combeferre grumbled, plugging in his headphones as he began to type away at his laptop.

            “Hey, don’t try to tune me out,” Courf protested, draping himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders. “I’m just trying to convey my overwhelming love for you.”

            While the two were distracted with each other, Enjolras met Grantaire’s gaze. “Seriously,” he said. “Thanks for getting me home. And…for everything else.”

            Grantaire smiled, his eyes softening. “Anytime, E,” he said earnestly. “And, listen.” He paused, looking lost in thought. Finally, he merely said, “You just get some rest, okay?”

            Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire left, closing the door behind him. Enjolras stared after him for a while, lost in thought, when he heard Courf say, “Aw, did Taire leave?”

            “Yeah, you freaked him out with your weird sexual fantasies,” Enjolras murmured as he downed a few ibuprofen.

            “That’s quite the feat,” Combeferre mused, his eyes never leaving his screen. “Considering he’s, well, Grantaire. Don’t forget to eat with your meds, E, or your ankle won’t be the only thing in agony.”

            Courf handed Enjolras a Twinkie, which he gratefully accepted. Flopping on the bed beside Enjolras, Courf began, “Okay, so what really happened?”

            Enjolras’ brow furrowed, his mouth too full of Twinkie to reply.

            Courf rolled his eyes and continued. “Oh, come on. You just happened to land on the wrong foot? Sounds to me like you were distracted.”

            Enjolras swallowed nervously and glanced away, feeling the blush return to his face. With the memory of Grantaire’s fingers on his ankles resurfacing, he decided to choose his next words carefully. “I wasn’t distracted,” he finally said, not meeting Courf’s all too knowing gaze. “I just made a mistake. I know you guys think otherwise, but I _am_ human.” He polished off the rest of his Twinkie and threw the wrapper in a nearby bin.

            Courf raised a brow, suspicious. “Sure,” he drawled. “Yeah, no, I absolutely believe you. And since we’re both being honest, I’m just gonna head to Neverland and have a party with Tinker Bell real quick.”

            Enjolras rolled his eyes as Courf made his way to the bathroom. Suddenly, Ferre pulled off his head phones and spun around in his desk chair, his eyes on Enjolras. The two stared in silence at each other until, finally, Enjolras cleared his throat and asked, “Um, you need something, buddy?”

            After a moment, Ferre said, “You know, you have seemed a little preoccupied lately. Is everything okay?”

            Enjolras gulped nervously and glanced away, uncomfortable with everyone’s questions. “I told you dude, I’m fine,” he said, hoping Ferre would drop it. “It was just an accident.”

            Comeferre narrowed his eyes, unsure. “You’d let us know, though. Right?” he asked. “Like, if there was something on your mind? Because you know you can always talk to me and Courf, dude.”

            For perhaps the hundredth time that day, Enjolras bit his lip, guilt gnawing at him at he stared at the worry in Combeferre’s eyes. How would be even begin to explain what had happened today? That Grantaire had looked so beautiful during his dance that it had completely rattled him? He could only imagine his roommates’ response.

            Finally, Enjolras gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and said, “Yeah, I’d let you know.”

            Comeferre studied him for a moment, then, appearing satisfied, returned to his term paper. Enjolras closed his eyes and gingerly stretched out, wincing at his sore body. He hoped his meds would kick in soon. In the darkness behind his lids, he saw Grantaire staring at him as he knelt on the floor, panting and exhausted.

            Groaning, he rubbed at his eyes as if he could wipe the image away, but to no avail. He didn’t think he’d be getting any rest any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, Chapter 2! Thank you so much for reading! It's also worth mentioning that I had Hozier's new song Movement on repeat for this chapter. Chapter 3 coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has arrived! Sorry it took so long, life's been catching up with me. Enjoy!

Enjolras spent the next 24 hours bored out of his mind. Combeferre or Courf had to constantly help him to the bathroom, but otherwise, the two were either too busy with midterm prep or each other to be particularly entertaining company. By the next morning, when they finally left for classes, Enjolras couldn’t decide if he missed them or was relieved to finally have the room to himself.

            It took less than three hours to finish his mountain of homework, and even less time to study for his upcoming current events exam. After a while, there was nothing left to do. There was nothing on Netflix he hadn’t already watched a dozen times, and he quickly grew bored scrolling through various social media. After a while, his stomach began to rumble, and he dropped his phone by his leg, groaning. He starving, bored, and had absolutely no one to talk to.

            Enjolras glanced at the swivel chair Courf had kindly left by his bed. Poor man’s wheelchair, he had called it, and Enjolras scowled. He didn’t particularly want to drag himself out of bed and scoot all the way to the mini fridge, but it would be at least another three hours before Courf and Combeferre returned, and he was certain he would be dead of starvation by then. Grunting, he dragged himself off the bed and used his good foot to slowly scoot over to the mini fridge.

            _God, if you’re listening, please let there be something edible in here,_ Enjolras silently prayed as he bent down to open the fridge. Inside, he found only a single lunchable.

            “Oh, fuck you, Courf,” he growled. Next time, it would be Enjolras who would be doing the grocery shopping.

            As Enjolras swiveled his way back to his bed, he heard his phone vibrate against the covers. He crawled back into bed and winced at the pain in his ankle, but noticed in relief that the pain was much less severe than it had been yesterday. Setting his lunchable beside him, he saw Jehan had texted him. _Heard you almost died. Yikes._

Enjolras chuckled. Quickly, he took a quick selfie, flashing a peace sign, and replied, _I lived, bitch. I guess word’s getting around about what a shitty dancer I am._

After several moments, Jehan replied. _Not your fault. Ballet’s a bitch. A beautiful bitch. That’s why it’s perfect you._

Enjolras smirked. _Ha ha ha_. _Note the sarcasm. Can you come by? I’m bored out of my mind and C/C won’t be back until after four._

_Unfortunately, my love, I am detained indefinitely,_ they responded. _In lieu of a midterm exam, my prof is making us create a painting that encapsulates the idea of “desire”. Do you know how hard I’ve racked my brain to come up with something that doesn’t involve fucking?? I’m screwed._

At that, Enjolras laughed. _Go with your gut,_ he typed. _At least it’ll be different._

_It’s a college painting class, E. Literally every piece we’ve ever made has involved sex in some way. The trick is to think outside the box._

            Enjolras thought for a moment, then typed. _So paint a box._

As the minutes passed, Enjolras began to worry he’d somehow offended his friend. Then, finally, he felt his phone vibrate.

            _YOU’RE A FUCKING GENIUS. What do cats love more than anything in the world???? A MOTHER FUCKING BOX._

Enjolras grinned. _Glad I could help :)_

_Do anything thrilling today??_

_About to tear into this fucking lunchable._

_What kind of treat?_

Enjolras ripped open the package and scowled. _Stale oreo._

_F,_ was Jehan’s respone, prompting another laugh out of Enjolras.

_So other than almost killing yourself, how’s dancing with R going??_

Enjolras bit his lip, his mind returning to Grantaire’s passionate dance and his lingering touch on his ankle. _Fine. He’s a good teacher. Didn’t really expect that._

_Yeah, he’s good at hiding the things he’s passionate about,_ Jehan responded. Before Enjolras could respond, he received another text. _Can I be honest for a second?_

Brow furrowed, Enjolras tapped away. _Always. Everything ok??_

            After several moments, his phone buzzed. _Yeah…I’m just really glad you guys are hanging out like this. You know, outside of our meetings. I know you guys butt heads a lot, but I think it’s good for you to have some one on one time together. You have a lot to offer each other._

Enjolras didn’t know what to make of that. After a moment, he finally responded, _What do you mean?_

_You know what I mean, honey,_ Jehan replied. _You guys need to start being more open with each other. I think you both could learn a lot._

Enjolras considered this. He thought about telling Jehan how flustered Grantaire’s dance had made him, and about how he could scarcely think of anything other than his warm smile and those intense green eyes. _Thanks, J,_ he finally responded. _Maybe you’re right._

_Xoxo_ was Jehan’s only response, and Enjolras set his phone down, lost in thought. _You guys need to be more open with each other._ Maybe Jehan really was right. Enjolras was loathe to admit it, but he had been taking Grantaire for granted. And not only for the dance class, but for everything else, too. Grantaire could be snarky at times, even downright insufferable, but he was also wise, and much smarter than he let on. Enjolras could learn a lot from him.

            He picked his phone back up and started texting again. _Hey, Grantaire. Look, I know I’ve been a whiny bitch lately, but I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. Thank you so much for putting up with me._

            Enjolras pressed send and set his phone back down, he face flushing at the memory of Grantaire’s fingers on his skin. He needed to be better. He needed to _do_ better. Grantaire deserved that.

            After several minutes, Enjolras’ phone buzzed. _Aww, you big softie._

Enjolras rolled his eyes, unsure what else he could have possibly expected. He was about to return to his studying when his phone buzzed again. _But seriously, you’re welcome, E. I’m always here for you. For anything you need._

Enjolras felt his chest swell with something large and unknown, and he decided then and there that, no matter what, he would make Grantaire proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first ever Les Mis fic! It's definitely not perfect, the spacing is way fucked up, but that's because I'm still trying to figure out AO3. Just bear with me, I'll get it figured out! Stay tuned for more!


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